


Step Into My Office, Baby

by Ravenspear



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Corporate!AU, M/M, PWP, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-20
Updated: 2011-10-20
Packaged: 2017-10-24 19:43:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/267150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ravenspear/pseuds/Ravenspear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They're kind of like Tony Stark and Pepper Pots, only they're mostly immoral, and have lots of hot, filthy sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Step Into My Office, Baby

Adam has one of the best fucking jobs ever.

Sure, every time he says as much, Dean pulls a face and reminds Adam of the fact that he works over eighty hours a week (and is on call for the remaining eighty-eight), hasn’t had a weekend off in seven months, and has one of the douchiest bosses in the history of all time.

And yeah, all that is true. Even - _especially_ \- the part about Crowley being an asshole.

And yeah, so Adam’s job does consist of planning and scheduling his boss’ entire fucking life (down to the nitty-gritty details of when he’ll have the time for his favorite prostitutes every week), which means a lot of time he’s dealing with rich men (through the proxies of their secretaries, mostly) who aren’t used to ever hearing the word “no,” and who Adam will on occasion (more often than Adam would perhaps have liked) have to refuse, because Crowley is too busy with _other_ rich men (or banging Candace or Victoria or Nadia or Angelia or Desiree) to work a meeting in.

But it’s still a fucking awesome job.

The why is in the benefits. Like the classy apartment he lives in on the company dime (and okay, sure, so he’s rarely there for very long, but it’s a nice bragging piece). Like the fact that Crowley literally _cannot_ leave the country without his living, breathing almanac, meaning Adam has travelled around the globe several times (in Crowley’s corporate yet, which is awesome), been to a shitload of cool places, and met a lot of interesting people. Like his health plan, that seemingly has no limits to what it will pay for (and it’s already payed for his lens correction; 20/20, bitches). Like his frankly fucking _insane_ salary, which is way more than he could ever have dreamed of when Crowley found him waiting tables, attempting to pay his way through college.

And of course, there’s the sex.

The sex is _spectacular_.

“ _Oh god_ ,” Adam moans, bent naked over the massive mahogany desk, legs kept wide apart by strong, rough hands as Crowley just fucking _licks_ a wet stripe up the crack of his ass, and  _fuck_ it’s good.

“I do like it when you call my name,” Crowley drawls, cool as you goddamn please, smirking lips pressing a kiss to the small of Adam’s back.

“Yeah, no fucking ego _at all_ ,” Adam snarks, followed by a hitched breath as Crowley’s mouth return to where Adam really fucking wants it to be, tongue teasing against the rim of his asshole, deft and wet and why the fuck isn’t it in him already? “Fuck, _please_ , just _do_ it,” he pleads, not caring that maybe he sounds a bit like he’s whining, because he’s been waiting for this since this morning when Crowley crowded him against the coffee machine and told him - in great fucking detail - _exactly_ what he was going to do to Adam tonight. Right now.

And Crowley, that fucking _bastard_ , leans away instead. “If you want me to continue, Adam, then say my name.”

Adam would roll his eyes if he weren’t so damn horny. “You’re actually serious.”

“I’m always serious,” he replies, all smug douchebag, and blows a stream of cool air across Adam’s pucker that has his toes curling into Crowley’s expensive Persian rug.

And yeah, so Adam might have been raised fairly religious, seriously thought about becoming a rabbi when he grew up, but right now, he doesn’t fucking care if he’s blaspheming in the worst way when he begs Crowley “ _Please_ , god. _Please_. Do it _now_.”

And _fuck_ , but Crowley does, thrusting his tongue in hard, and goddamnit if he isn’t as good with his tongue like this as he is when using it to smoothtalk business associates and clients and competitors and press.

“God, god, god, god, god,” Adam slurs, fingers scrabbling for purchase on dark, smooth wood as Crowley licks and licks and fucking _sucks_ , and he loves every goddamn second of it.

So much that when Crowley pulls away, he almost sobs, so goddamn _close_ , and he tries to push back to find that sinful tongue again, shake loose of Crowley’s hands pinning his legs firmly to the desk. “Tut, tut, darling,” the bastard drawls. “Don’t you remember what I said when I bent you over?”

“‘Don’t get up, and don’t struggle’,” Adam whines, and hates how fucking close he is to coming right now.

“Then why are you?” he asks, hand sliding up to cup one of Adam’s asscheeks, thumb rubbing frustratingly close to Adam’s hole, and Crowley is a fucking _sadist_.

“You fucking _stopped_.”

Crowley laughs, dark and sexy and just enough menacing to make Adam’s insides want to tie themselves into hot, messy knots. “I did, but only because I was planning to move on to something more fun,” he says, and flips Adam over with an ease Adam figures must be practiced (like with Candace and Victoria and Nadia and Angelia and Desiree), so he’s on his back on the desk, gazing up at Crowley looking calm and cool and not a single fucking wrinkle in his suit and it’s so fucking unfair that people like him exist. “My, aren’t you a sight,” he says, eyes trailing across Adam’s body, and Adam’s happy that he’s already flushed from all the _exercise_ , because otherwise he’d probably be blushing.

“So what’s this fun thing you were going to do?” he asks, and tries not to sound as eager as he feels. He’s pretty sure he fails.

“Ah, right,” Crowley says, as if he’d forgotten while studying Adam’s current state of debauchedness ( _is that even a word?_ Adam thinks), “hang on for a moment, darling,” he continues, and heads over to the bar.

Adam kind of wants to stab him (with a knife, or with his cock, he’s not quite decided). “Seriously, you’re mixing yourself a drink? _Now?_ ”

“So impatient,” Crowley says, three ice cubes clinking sharply into a glass before he pours scotch over them. “Young people these days.”

“At least I’m not a fucking _cocktease_ ,” Adam hisses as Crowley strolls back over, sipping at his whiskey.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Crowley says, trailing his glass lightly down Adam’s chest, raising goosebumps where is passes. “I feel quite teased every time I see you. Those tight pants, those lovely shirts...”

“ _You_ bought me those,” Adam points out, breath hitching as Crowley presses the glass to the inside of his thigh.

“Well, why wouldn’t I,” Crowley says, shrugging. “You look quite stunning in them.”

Adam can’t suppress a shiver as the cool glass trails up his hard cock, and there is a distinct note of whimpering when he begs: “Please, whatever you were going to do, just do it, I’m fucking dying here.”

“Ah-ah, what’s the magic word?” Crowley teases, the smirking douchebag.

“Please, god, I need to get off,” Adam moans, and yeah, so maybe the way he arches a little on the desk, lets his legs fall wide, maybe that’s all him playing up the wanton sluttiness to make Crowley get a move on.

“Well, since you asked so nicely,” Crowley murmurs sweetly, voice all dark and breathy, settling his glass next to Adam’s hip as he sinks to his knees in the V of Adam’s legs, and that is about one of the hottest things Adam’s ever seen. “Now close your eyes and feel this,” he says, and Adam obeys without even thinking about it.

Then there’s a clinking in the glass next to him, and then something really, really cold is pushing against his hole, and Adam swears and grabs the edge of the desk to keep from moving as Crowley pushes first one, then a second, then a third ice cube into his ass, and fuck that’s cold, and uncomfortable, and Adam is really fucking ready to kick Crowley in the face and leave, spending his evening maxing out his company credit card on, like, buying doomed South American factories or something.

That is, until Crowley’s tongue returns, licking its way into Adam and pushing at the ice cubes, and _godfuckyes_ , how the _hell_ did Crowley arrange them so that they would press against Adam’s prostate, fucking _shit_.

He feels Crowley smirk against him as he moans and whines and murmurs “godgodgodgodgod” into the warm air of the office at the feeling of those all-too-quickly melting icecubes rubbing against his insides, and he comes with two of Crowley’s fingers up his ass along with his tongue, his other hand working Adam’s dick as he shudders and arches.

“Have fun?” Crowley asks when it’s over, smirking as he cleans his hand off with a handkerchief that probably cost more than Adam’s first car did.

Adam is boneless and breathing hard, and nowhere near even _contemplating_ getting up from the desk, no matter how uncomfortably the edge is cutting into his ass. “Best overtime hour I ever worked,” he replies, managing to work up a tired smirk in Crowley’s direction.

Crowley smiles as he steps up closer, one hand grabbing one of Adam’s thighs and pushing it up, spreading him, the other going to undo his own zipper. “Well, then I hope you won’t mind the, oh, two or three hours more I _desperately_ need you to work this evening,” he says, and his grin is devilish.

Adam responds by wrapping his leg around Crowley’s shoulder and tugging him in close. “Only if you’ll pay me overtime and a half.”

“Deal.”


End file.
